The stealth transport touches down on the Academy tarmac with a heavy, muffled thud, the rotors slowing to a gentle whir that vibrates through the soles of my boots. The ramp lowers, and the crisp, pine-scented air of the Pacific Northwest floods the cabin. It smells of damp earth, blooming jasmine, and the faint, metallic tang of ozone.
It smells like home. But more importantly, it smells like peace.
I stand at the edge of the ramp, my heavily bandaged hands trembling slightly beneath my tactical cloak. The nerve damage from the Mariana Trench frostbite flares with a dull, rhythmic agony in the cold night air, a persistent reminder of the physical price we paid to save the world. Beside me, Kade steps up, his right arm wrapping securely around my waist, taking half my weight. His left s
